I Die Through You!
by Nobodyknowsmenow
Summary: Faramir's diary before he rides out to ruin, and the worlds ending!


I own nothing you recognize. If you don't recognize it, well, I think it might be mine!

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I Die Through You

He wishes me dead. He said so, just a moment ago. I asked, "_You wish now that our places had been exchanged. That I had died and Boromir had lived._"

"_Yes_." He replied. "_Yes, I wish that_."

Oh, Eru. After all these years, I give UP! I'm not going to love him anymore, I'm not going to pay attention when he says things, and I'm going to ignore him completely.

I wish I could do that. How do you tell your heart it can't love anymore? Someone you've loved since you could remember? My heart was made to love, not hate. This hurts me so.

_My father._

I'm not supposed to say it, but I do, despite the malicious, non-public punishments he figures out, varying in intensity from more paperwork to do, even when I am so tired I could (and do) sleep on my feet, to cleaning a battle-field of our dead. Eru, that is horrible. The dead faces of men I used to know, the people I grew up with, rotting in the fields, or in the waters of Anduin.

There is nothing worse than pulling a dead friend out of the water, feeling his flesh sliding off his bones under your fingers, looking around at your men doing their best not to be sick or cry as they drag friends, brothers and fathers out of the waters, some with only minor wounds, men that should have lived if only we could have helped keep their heads up… The stench will stay with me until the day I die. We bury them in a shallow mass grave.

It is without honor. Anduin should be allowed to keep them. She takes good care of all her dead.

Yes. All her dead.

_Ai_, Boromir. My dear sweet brother, where have you gone? Where has the river-mother taken you?

Who says it is unmanly to cry? Whoever it was must have been a poet or healer, not a soldier, and then made us stand to that. I wish we could cry without shame. I have not once cried since I became a Captain.

I must be strong.

It hurts inside. There is a great dam built in my life, behind which there is all my pain, all my fear, and all my tears. I'm so tired of reinforcing that wall, so tired of holding back the floods…

I'm so tired of being here…

Eru, I so want to break down… I was too young for that. We all were. Weeping is a luxury I am not allowed, as Captain. My men can weep. I, the Captain, the son of the steward, can not. Not even for my own brother. No, it would be childish to show that I loved someone.

I must stop caring about people, that's all. My dreams are so haunted by faces and voices, and forever burning… But I wander.

It gives me vague, cold comfort. _Father._ I used the word in his council room, and it angered him, and later, he struck me for it. A wonderful word, _father_. It will never be applied to me.

For I shall die this day. The line of Stewards ends here, unless my lord does something drastic, permanent, and unwise. I prefer not to think of that possibility.

Since he is robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead.

Oh, Gondor, what will become of you? Your children lie about you in the long, cold sleep of death.

May Eru have mercy… though what have we done to deserve it? Naught. We can only pray that he will grant it us.

He sends me back to Osgiliath; well, I shall go. I care not. I care for my men, though. They look at me, and they know we are doomed. I can say nothing to make that fear in their eyes go away. I'm helpless.

I can see them paying off debts left and right, writing letters to those they love.

I have no debts. I don't really have much property to will, either. Father will just destroy it like he did Boromir's. But why should I care? I'll be dead, and far beyond needing my books. I hope he doesn't have my pets killed, though. Poor Kikki; poor Troll; you'll miss me, won't you?

Something inside me is breaking as it has not broken for many a year. I am coming apart at the seams. My heart, so long frozen, is dripping blood from the deep wounds in it. I'm being broken, crushed under the relentless boots of the dark lord and my father. I am broken again.

I don't want to be broken! I want to cry and scream, to fight, ANYTHING but this slow twisting and torturing of my heart and soul. But soon I will feel naught. I hope I die.

_I WANT TO DIE!_ Please just KILL me!

And there is no one I love to write to, I will not burden my uncle with a letter to open after I am gone; nor do I have a lass that I favor.

Better not to marry if you can't look her in the face and tell her you never kissed anyone before her. I don't have a girl that I fancy at all, actually, now that I think of it, nor have I ever had one.

I've been waiting to find the right woman, one I can marry, and settle down with. One to love and all but worship. One who will let me love her without shoving me away, one I can protect, one that needs me to love her and keep her safe. I've never really been needed by someone before, and I think it would be nice.

Who knows? If I'm lucky, she'll love me, too. That would make things a lot easier. If she didn't love me, I would feel guilty every time I touched her. Better not to marry at all than to marry feeling like your wife fears you, or is just your toy, not your friend and ally. Not that I have any experience with that...

And now it is too late to marry.

Ah, well, it's immaterial, really. I'm going to die. Good thing I have no woman to grieve for me when I fall. It is a good thing that the woman from my dream is just that; a beautiful dream. Enough grief can be laid on my account already.

I'm lonely, and we don't go for an hour, everything is packed, if I sharpen my sword any more it will break, Silme is saddled and ready to go, (I will not take poor old Gilad to his death.) and I'm alone in a room full of men, just like always. So I might as well write in this old book. In my mind, I sit in my old room, staring at Boromir's bed, and miss him.

Not for much longer, though.

Soon this lingering pain will leave me. Soon I will be able to go home.

Soon we will be together again.

Odd, this feeling of impending doom isn't as bad as they say it is. I'll be dead before the next sunrise. I had thought I would feel frightened, but I don't. I feel like I did when I was small and sat outside under the stars until I was numb. My heart is frozen, and the frost will not lift. It is too late for me. I have no hope of life.

Tomorrow I'll be with Eru. He won't tell me I can't call him father. He loves me.

But my men... For their sakes alone I wish to live. For their sakes alone, I would go tell my father to stop this. For their sakes alone.

I look at them sadly. One of the youngest ones starts to cry, although he tries to hide it. All the others ignore his tears. Good men. I reach over and touch his knee. "I'm sorry." Is that all I can say? I can usually talk…

"Captain, I'm scared." He gasps. He looks to be about seventeen. "We're going to die, aren't we? Please say we aren't! If you say it, I know it'll be true!"

I can't lie for him. How I wish I could! "I don't know. If there's a miracle, we will regain Osgiliath."

"And if there isn't?"

"We'll try and make one." he falls silent. A little girl runs into the barracks, straight to her father.

"Look, ada! I made some sweet biscuits! The kind you like. You want some?" The man can only nod, swallowing hard, and she handed him one from her tiny basket. It looked a trifle gooey with sugar and perhaps a bit lardy, but it was the gift of a gentle heart. And judging from the amount of flour on her, and the redness of her little face, she had spent the entire morn working on it, watching it bake, and running for her ada. "D'you like it?" She asked earnestly. The biggest problem in her world is what she will do if her adar doesn't like her cookies.

I wish it could stay that way, that she need never know the pain of life as I do.

"Yes, sweetheart." He hugged her tight. "It's very good. Thank you."

"Think I'll ever be as good a cook as mother?"

"Oh, yes. Definitely. Maybe even better, though that'd be a hard job."

"I hope so." She smiled up at him, and he managed not to cry. "I love you, father." She whispered, hugging him.

"I love you too, baby." He hugged her fiercely and then let her go. "You run straight home to your mother, you hear me? Don't dilly by the way. Take care of her. Tell her I said good-bye, and to leave the city as soon as she may. Make for the mountains in the north. I'll miss you, sweetheart." The little girl was about to leave, but I stopped her.

I spoke to her father. "See her home."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. See your child home. Take care of her. Make sure she comes to no harm."

"But the lord Denethor said..."

"I don't care what he said! You see your daughter home. Now." He looked like he would protest more, but I stood. "That was not a suggestion, soldier." He bowed, and I saw tears in his eyes.

"Yes sir." The others looked at me, many nodding approval at what I had done. Many had children of their own.

I can not say how much I wish I had a child of my own to love and cherish… That is actually the dream that has kept me on my feet these last twenty years; the thought that maybe someday I could settle down, and marry a good woman, and have a few children to love and care for. What more could I wish? I desire no title; I do not want to fight, though I do not know what I would do without a sword in my hand, and I will always be a soldier in my heart, for I am fit for nothing else now, save the trash heap. But these dreams, like all of my other day-dreams, will never come to me. No, it is only the terrors and death of the night that come to pass.

I smiled at him as he gathered his daughter into his arms, and carried her from the room. I glance around at my men.

Ah, Father. You always said I would die through my own stupidity.

You were wrong, dear father.

_I die through you. _

Curse you, father, curse you!

I don't mean that.

If anyone is to be cursed, it is me. I should have gone to Imladris. I should be dead, and Boromir should be here. He could make father see sense! Father would never send him out to die. Udun, he'd be celebrating my death.

Yes, this runty embarrassment to the family name would finally be gone.

Curse you, Faramir. You could have just said you wouldn't go on this fool-hardy ride, spit at him, and been killed. No one else would have died! But no, you had to keep trying to please him.

And now look. Not one of these men will see their families again, because of mistakes YOU made. Faramir, what have you done?

And then I know it. The sun will not rise. There is no hope.

I have finally given up, and I welcome the shadow, for then I do not feel so empty inside.

My decision is made. I will not lead all of them to udun, no matter the command of my father! I will be guilty of all the things he has said. I shall be; impudent, dishonest, lying, undutiful, stupid, totally ungrateful, a true idiot, and a coward, not worth love or respect. Sounds good to me.

Father, the beatings you gave me? Well, they will no longer be altogether undeserved, for I agree that there were times I deserved what I received. Our tally will be even, the slate clean.

"All of you, listen to me." All of the men stop what they are doing (or pretending to do) and look at me. "In forty-five minutes, I will be charging the enemy at Osgiliath. I do not command any to follow. There is no hope of victory for ourselves, but there is hope of our slaying a few before we go, and thus buy those we leave behind more of a chance at life. This is the command of my lord Denethor. Those of you who stay, there is no shame on you, and none will look down on you. You will be the last defense of this city." I look around. "All those who desire to come, knowing all this, stand."

Every man there stood instantly. I was so proud of them! My men. This hurts…

I have many debts, and I can't pay them. Ever. We will ride, one hundred too many to die, to ruin, and the worlds ending.

Where have I heard that? It matters not.

It still hurts, but soon it will be over… I will be glad when I fall, and Uncle Imrahil is not here to catch me. For that I am also glad. I do not want him to see the wreck I have become. I do love him, though he has begun to doubt that for I would not allow him to see me before I left, though he begged. I couldn't let him see me like this, my eyes a total blank, almost no soul left in my body. My soul has been tortured beyond feeling, as if it had been seared with a hot iron. I can't let him see that I am broken again, that all his work was for nothing in the end. It would grieve him to see me so, and I do not wish that.

Let him see me dead; let him think I died happy, or at the very least healthy.

I will be totally crushed in this. This time they will not be able to fix me, and the broken body faithful Silme will drag back will not have me in it. I'll be free from these prison bars at long last. I will see the sky as wide as it should be, not a narrow strip of blue crossed with iron. And I will finally be allowed to go home.

I can go. Think better of me, father, please, though I crossed your will in the end. I did what you asked! I have done everything you have ever asked of me!

Could you not give me the one thing I have asked of you? Just a little love? Just tell me one time that you love me. Just tell me one time you are proud of me. Just once? Just once smile at me. Just once.

That's all! One time!

Please, father, please… forgive me. I should have tried harder, I should have done better. I am sorry. I go, and will trouble you no more. But even in this last despair, in this hopeless dark, some part of me yet wants to live. The last spark of a dying flame, soon to sputter and fall into ash with all that is left of the house of Hurin.

May Eru have mercy on all our souls. We go for Gondor.

So be it. So ends Faramir, son of Denethor. It is well.

When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say; it is well, it is well, with my soul."

_So be it. It is well._


End file.
